The life of a poet is hard,
People think that they love your work,
But it's not just work,
Its our life.

ordinary
     this day.
It began at
      Daybreak
Going on as
        They all do
With rising temperatures
            And clouds
And birds
        Trees a highway
Cut straight
            Through,
But in the middle
       Of this day
Came, once
            Upon a time
Like the plush
     Soft of a woman's
Breast and thigh
        An entrance of
A sort, a gateway
     Velour, wet,
Plush, only a man
Could know
       How velvet it became
As the river ran,
     Skies opened up

Heavens angels
             Sang.
And the rain
   It came

Who hadn't loved you
In time, perhaps
Like the wall in the painting
Faded,
Far from the window,
And the shine
On the pearl
In your ear remained,
"I"
Am colored still
With your
Glow

The dark crept up
Sudden like a thief
  
Intent on stealing your gems
  The pearls from your neck
     That gleam in your eye

As the steam from the asphalt curled
   A hemp rope rising
       As a Cobra in the dim

To a pipers tune, in June
    Here am I, the visionary
        Reconnoiter the blank slate

Tallied awed and sputtered. How fast,
   The hand went in unfelt,
         And the sky went broke.

Fairly the human glow lights
    Of commerce flickered
          Came to a point of aura

On the hill, as the cars sped up
     And the crayon black asphalt
         Simmered and howled

Each tree gaining form
   In the blaze of headlights
    Chasing shadows down
        
The bank

You smell like a baby kitten
True, fresh soft and warm
Pushing up to my chin
Tickling my neck my tongue,
So pure
I hear you
Purr

Along the in and out
Bank of the river
Eroded in twisted knots
By time rain and currents
Roots exposed like veins
On the skeleton of a skinny old man
Grass barely clinging
To what hasn't washed downstream
Yet, in shade given
By age old scrub oaks
Paltry in beauty
Compared to a willows grace
Grown in the sparseness of
fertility lacking any
Other space
The moss seems complacent
At home age old a centerpiece
Of a feast here,
No roses grown
Not any vermillion
Just washed wasted dirt
Sand loam,
An existence
For growth
A persistence
I've known

I smell the scent of your perfume,
Cheap liquor breath brand
To make you swoon and
Zigzag straight lines,
Hanging in balance
On threads of gravity,
One foot Here
and the other,
Somewhere in Hell.